


Rehabilitation

by TrueIllusion



Series: Familiarity [15]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, POV Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), Physical Disability, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Traumatic Brain Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: Brian wasn’t sure how he felt about revisiting the place where he’d wanted so badly to turn back time or try to act like his life hadn’t changed forever. Looking back now, he almost felt ashamed of the way he’d acted when he was in rehab. The way he’d treated people. People who were just trying to help. Not just the people whose job it was to do so, but his family too. He’d just been so angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his situation. So angry that he couldn’t see past it. The frustration he’d felt back then had completely obscured his view of everything else that there was -- like the fact that he was still alive, and that things weren’t any worse.And he knew that right now, Justin felt the same. Angry. Frustrated.





	Rehabilitation

_“There must be something you can give him.”_

_“Drugs can’t fix everything.”_

_“Where did you hear that?”_

*****

He couldn’t do this alone. He knew that much.

As badly as Brian wanted to just pack Justin up and take him back home to New York, find a rehab center there, and be back in his own apartment where everything was comfortable and just worked for him with no muss, fuss, or struggle, he knew that it was best if they stayed in Pittsburgh, at least for a little while longer.

He still had so much he had to take care of -- getting all of his routines back in order and sorting out the car and trying to get past all of these nightmares and flashbacks and trying to figure out what Justin was going to need, long-term, to help him once they did get home. The thought of trying to do all of that while being Justin’s main support was overwhelming, to say the least. Brian needed some other people to take things off of his plate whenever possible. And that was hard for him to admit, so just the fact that he was letting people do that, was huge.

He would have Rob if they went back to New York, sure, but he didn’t want to put all of this off on him. He felt bad enough having taken him away from his family. It didn’t matter that Rob had told him that it was no big deal. To Brian, it was a big deal. He never wanted to be a burden on anyone. He’d spent enough time feeling that way growing up. In his adult life, he was willing to do anything to avoid it, including running himself into the ground because he didn’t want to let people do things for him. And, if he was being honest, the reason he didn’t want to let them do it was because he didn’t want to have to think of why they were doing it -- because they cared about him -- and he didn’t want to have to think about what that meant. It was all a vicious cycle that he knew he’d been stuck in his entire life and didn’t know how to break. He’d tried to get better about accepting help and the fact that people cared about him, but he still couldn’t quite get past it. Not completely. If not accepting help caused him harm, so what? Maybe he deserved it. That feeling was just another manifestation of the vicious cycle that had started so many years ago, long before he ever met any of the people he now thought of as his family.

Old habits were really, really hard to break.

So, they were staying in the Pitts, at least for now. And that meant Brian was going to have to confront some demons, since Justin would be going to the same place where Brian had spent a month after his own accident.

He already felt like he was having to face down so much from his past, with the nightmares that continued to plague him nearly every night. If he was exhausted enough, he could usually manage to sleep through the night, but only if he was so tired he could barely hold his eyes open. On an average night, he was waking up at least once, usually two or three times, breathless and sweating and so unsettled that it was difficult if not impossible to go back to sleep.

He’d talked with Rochelle on the phone a couple of times, but it wasn’t making much difference yet. Really, all it was doing was making him feel even more wrung-out, because not only was he seeing and reliving the horrors every night, but he was also having to relay them to a third party and then try to answer questions about what he thought was going on, or why he felt so much blame when it came to so many things that she said weren’t his fault. It was as hard for Brian to accept Rochelle saying it wasn’t his fault as it had been for him to accept Justin saying it so many years ago. He never quite believed it, and he wasn’t sure how he could get to the point that he did.

Rochelle seemed confident that they wouldn’t have to go the route of medication -- and she wanted to stick with that approach, particularly since he wasn’t in New York yet and she said the psychiatrist who worked in their office would want to see him in person before prescribing anything -- but she said it would take time. Even with medication, it would take time, because it wasn’t a magic fix. It treated symptoms. It didn't deal with the underlying issue. That took time. Brian didn’t want to take that time. He was getting desperate. He needed to sleep, and he wanted nothing more than a blank mind and dreamless slumber, even if it came with the help of drugs. But Rochelle wasn’t budging on that.

Brian was tired of not sleeping. He was tired of hurting and feeling phantom pains because he was so stressed out and exhausted at the same time. He was tired of feeling like there was nothing he could do and like he was never going to get to the other side of this. At least he wasn’t having to take a piss every couple of hours anymore, and he wasn’t feeling physically ill anymore. He was just...spent. Completely worn out.

If he could just sleep, maybe he’d feel better. But for right now, he was stuck.

He had, at least, finally gotten to spend some time with Gus over the past week, although not as much as he would have liked. He could tell Gus was worried about him, even though Brian had tried his best to act like everything was okay -- aside from what obviously wasn’t, of course. There was no reason for Gus to know about the nightmares or why Brian was so tired. It might not have been the quality father-son time that Brian wished he could have given, but Gus seemed happy with meals at the diner and accompanying Brian to the hospital for a few days, before he had to go back home to Canada.

Brian bought his plane ticket, and took him to the airport, and promised him that they’d have him down to New York for a visit before much longer. Gus loved the city, and hoped to move there after he graduated from high school. Brian was looking forward to that, because he hated being separated from his son by such a distance. He’d even hated the idea when Lindsay and Melanie first brought it up, but he’d acquiesced when Lindsay told him that holding them hostage wasn’t going to make up for lost time and missed opportunities, and that he’d still get to spend time with Gus every summer. She’d kept her promise, and sent Gus to stay with Brian (and later, Brian and Justin) for a couple of weeks every summer, but it was never enough. Gus was always reluctant to go home, and Brian was always reluctant to send him back, just like he himself was always reluctant to leave when he’d go to Toronto for birthdays or holidays. He kept wishing he could turn back time and take more of an active role in the first four years of Gus’s life, but that was water under the bridge now. It couldn’t be changed. He hadn’t been ready for it then. He was now, and that was all he could focus on. Not what he could have done or should have done in the past, but what he could do now.

Rob was always telling him how much better it was to live in the now -- to not be stuck in the past or worried about the future. But that was a hard thing for Brian to even attempt at the moment, particularly with Justin’s future so uncertain.

Even though he didn’t always want to hear what Rob had to say -- particularly when it sounded like a motivational quote you might find going viral on social media -- Brian was glad that he was there. He was glad to have someone to talk to. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anyone to talk to before Rob had arrived -- he did have Jennifer and Debbie and Michael -- but Rob understood Brian on a different level. Brian felt like Rob knew a different version of him than his Pittsburgh family did, and that had less to do with disability than it had to do with maturity. Not comparing him to what he had been in his past, particularly the things he wasn’t proud of. Sometimes, Brian felt like his Pittsburgh family had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he’d grown and changed and was different now as a person. Some of it was a result of his accident, sure, but most of it was just because he’d grown older. Grown up. Rob had never known any Brian except the one that came to be after his accident. After he went to live in New York. After he’d come to accept what had happened to him and that he needed to move on with his life. Rob didn’t know the “before.”

With Rob, the ghost of Brian’s past never haunted him.

But Brian was about to encounter the memory of his past self, whether he was prepared to or not.

Brian wasn’t sure how he felt about revisiting the place where he’d wanted so badly to turn back time or try to act like his life hadn’t changed forever. Looking back now, he almost felt ashamed of the way he’d acted when he was in rehab. The way he’d treated people. People who were just trying to help. Not just the people whose job it was to do so, but his family too. He’d just been so angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his situation. So angry that he couldn’t see past it. The frustration he’d felt back then had completely obscured his view of everything else that there was -- like the fact that he was still alive, and that things weren’t any worse.

And he knew that right now, Justin felt the same. Angry. Frustrated.

Justin’s emotions had been all over the place for the past week. He’d had days when he’d raged -- sometimes getting so angry that he cried. He’d had days when he’d barely spoken to anyone. He’d had days when he seemed so despondent that Brian wondered if he was even going to try to get better. And those were the days that scared Brian the most.

Brian had been there. He didn’t know if Justin believed him when he said that he had, but he had. He knew exactly how Justin felt. And that made it even more scary. Because he knew how much effort it had taken -- and how long it had taken -- for him to really pull himself out of the hole of darkness and despair.

He also knew that Justin had played a critical role in pulling him out of that hole. Brian was determined to support Justin in the same way, even if Justin resisted. Brian knew that there was hope -- that even if absolutely nothing changed physically for Justin from this point forward, they could find a way for him to still be able to live his life and do his art and be independent. But Justin had to want to accept that. Right now, he didn’t.

Brian had been there, too. He’d faked it for a while, but he hadn’t truly made it until almost a year after he was injured. And again, Justin had played an important part in helping him see what he couldn’t see for himself. What he hadn’t wanted to see.

Brian knew what he needed to do -- support Justin and just be there -- but that didn’t make it any easier to watch the carnage in the meantime, waiting for Justin to come around. He wondered if Justin had felt that same way ten years before.

Justin was transferred to the rehab center on a Monday in early January. It was a tumultuous day, to say the least.

Justin was pissed. He barely spoke to Brian for most of the day, which gave Brian plenty of time to stare at the four walls and remember what life had felt like ten years before. How much he’d felt like Justin did right now. How frustrated he’d been. Embarrassed by what he couldn't do. Not at all reassured by people telling him it would get easier. How much he’d hated needing help with absolutely everything short of feeding himself. How he’d still been in so much pain, and how the oral medications didn’t even seem to be touching it. How he was always hot and uncomfortable and had to stay in that stupid brace all day. How he’d tried to put on a neutral face when people would visit -- to look like he was handling things okay, so they wouldn’t ask too many questions -- but inside, he’d felt like he was dying. Like he didn’t know if he’d ever feel happy again. If he’d ever be able to move on and be okay with spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Brian had a fleeting thought that Justin had it good, by comparison. He knew he shouldn’t be comparing their two situations -- they were different, and just because Justin could walk didn’t invalidate what he was feeling or how devastating it probably was to be in the shape he was in. Brian was all too aware of that.

But it was so hard to watch Justin not even try. That wasn’t Justin at all. And Brian didn’t know what to do to get back the Justin he knew -- the one who would push himself relentlessly until he got what he wanted.

He guessed he’d just keep trying to get Justin to do things that might lift his spirits, but he knew that would likely prove to be difficult to accomplish.

Brian had borrowed a computer from the Kinnetik offices, and he and Rob had set it up in Justin’s room first thing in the morning. Brian remembered how much it had helped him to start doing some work again when he got out of the hospital, even though Ted and Cynthia had told him not to. It was a nice distraction, and it felt good to do something normal. Brian hoped Justin might feel like trying to draw, if he had a means to do so. Justin’s occupational therapist at the hospital had recommended using a device that he could attach to his hand that would hold the stylus steady, so that he didn’t need to grip it with his fingers. Brian made sure that Justin had it. But Justin had looked at it like it offended him, and Brian felt just as lost as he had all those years ago when he’d bought Justin his first computer for his artwork -- he’d only been trying to help, and he’d been soundly rejected. Now, the same thing was happening again.

Rob was full of ideas for ways they could help Justin, but Justin was shooting all of them down. He had an attitude with Brian. He had an attitude with Rob. He had an attitude with every single person who came into the room or tried to talk to him.

It was mid-afternoon when Brian encountered the first familiar face that he remembered from his own time as a patient there -- one of the occupational therapists he’d worked with, who had helped him learn to transfer and adapt to doing everything from a sitting position. She looked at him like she thought she recognized him, but then shook her head like she couldn’t quite figure it out, then went on to lead Justin to the room where they’d be working together. Brian could tell Justin didn’t want to go, but he went with surprisingly little actual protest. Maybe he did recognize that all of this was for his own good, after all.

After they left the room, Brian ended up in front of the computer, figuring that he might as well use the time when he wasn’t focused on Justin to check his email and try to get back to doing at least some work. He’d been at that for a little more than half an hour when he heard Rob’s voice say, “Knock knock,” from the doorway.

“Hey,” Brian said as he finished his last few keystrokes and closed the window before turning to face his friend. “How was the coffee shop?”

“Just as good as any, I’d imagine. Good tea, good people watching, and I got some stuff done. So it’s all good in my book.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from doing anything you need to do.”

“For god’s sake, Brian, how many times have I told you--”

“I know, I know. You want to be here.”

“Yes. Now what’s it going to take for you to believe me?”

Brian sighed but didn’t answer.

“How about we get you some coffee? Get you out of this room,” Rob said. “They got anything decent in the cafeteria here?”

“Eh, it’s coffee. Does the trick.”

The two of them went down to the cafeteria, where Brian bought his coffee and Rob ended up with more tea. Brian didn’t understand how Rob functioned without caffeine, but he seemed dead-set on avoiding it.

“So,” Rob said, after they’d chosen a table and pushed two of its chairs aside. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to be back here. For you.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. This isn’t about me. It’s about Justin.”

“Don’t give me that shit again. Trust me, I know how it is. And it absolutely does matter how you feel. I know when I went to rehab, I wasn’t in a good place at all.”

“And here I thought you always had it all together.”

“Nope, not at all. Remember, you met me fourteen years out. Imagine yourself now, plus four more years. That’s the version of me you met. Things were a whole lot different in rehab. I was 22. I felt like everything changed for me right when I was on the precipice of my adult life, and that was hard to accept. Like I’ve told you before, I’d just graduated from college, gotten a job, and I was supposed to start the next week. I lost that job, and then I had to figure out how to do everything in a new way, while at the same time figuring out how to start living my adult life too. This isn’t easy. I don’t think it really matters where you are or why you’re here -- it means something has changed, and you have to work around it and accept it. That’s hard. I know I have a lot of memories associated with it, and most of them aren’t good ones. I’m sure you do too.”

“I remember sitting right here in this room, signing the papers to list my loft for sale.” Brian stirred his coffee and let his gaze wander absently over the dining room as he told Rob the story. “I’d lived there since my early 20s, not long after I graduated college and got my first real job. That loft was a lot of things to me. It had been a symbol of freedom. That I’d made it. That I was free to do whatever I wanted.” Brian stopped short of telling Rob that it had been his fuckpad, and that he’d probably fucked most of gay Pittsburgh in it. “Letting go of it was really hard. But there was no way that it was going to work for me as a paraplegic. I didn’t have a choice. I felt that way so much, back then. Like I was just being dragged along for some sick rollercoaster ride. But selling my loft... That was one of the moments that made all of this too real. There were a lot of those moments here.”

“Yeah. It’s the place where you have to face what happened and know that things are going to be different from here on out.”

“God, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.”

“I know. Me too. But that didn’t make it any less true.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it was harder because I was older, and I had so much already established. I had a solid idea of who I was, and then it all got turned upside down.”

“I’m not sure there’s ever a good time for your whole life to change,” Rob mused, sipping his tea. “I think we all wonder if others had it easier than we did. The grass is always greener, I guess. But I don’t think it really matters. No one really has it easier. It’s hard no matter what. Justin’s right there, at this point. Wondering if his whole life is going to be different now, and what it’s going to be like. He’s lucky to have you, because you know what he’s going through, to some degree, even if it’s not exactly the same. But you have to not let yourself get dragged down in the bad memories.”

“I know.”

“You have to be sure you’re taking care of yourself. Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. It’s not a hard question, Brian. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“You’ve been right here with me on most days.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I think I’m doing better with it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, man, I love you and all, but quit it with the psychoanalysis. I’m doing okay.”

“Alright. I’ll cut to the chase. You still look really tired. Are you sleeping?”

“I’m trying.”

“But…?”

Brian looked down at his cup, restlessly rolling it between his hands just to have something to focus on -- to fidget with. He was stalling and he knew it.

“Brian, what’s going on?”

“Nightmares,” Brian said softly. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he knew he wasn’t going to have a choice. Rob would get him to talk about it eventually. Might as well just get it over with.

“About what? Justin’s accident?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes mine. Sometimes what happened to him at his prom.”

Rob knew about the prom because Justin had told him. Brian always avoided talking about it, because it hurt to talk about, even after all these years. He still felt responsible for Justin being so badly hurt, and having all of his life plans upended before he’d even walked across the stage at his high school graduation. Chris Hobbs might have been the one to swing the bat, but Brian felt like he was the one who had stolen Justin's innocence. He didn't think anyone would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

“Don’t worry,” Brian said quickly, just as Rob opened his mouth to speak. “I’m talking to someone about it. I’m trying. But it’s hard, and it’s not a quick fix. She says the reason I’m having so much trouble moving past it is because I feel like what happened was my fault. She’s trying to help me process my thoughts about it. Christ, now I'm speaking psychobabble too. I shouldn’t get to have thoughts about it, though. It didn’t happen to me. It happened to Justin.”

“It happened to you too, Brian.”

“If I hadn’t been there, it never would have happened.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Brian closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel a headache coming on. “I’m trying, I promise. But it’s hard to sleep when you keep seeing all of these bad memories, every time you close your eyes. And I can’t… I’m sorry, I just can’t talk about it anymore. But hey, I did stop taking a double dose of my painkillers at night just to sleep, so that’s something.”

Rob looked at Brian and narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Have I made Mr. Motivational Speech, speechless?” Brian said, letting his mouth turn up slightly into his trademark smirk. “Man, I’ve waited for this moment for the last nine years.” He needed to lighten the mood before it got any more maudlin. It didn't work.

“Brian,” Rob said. His tone was deadly serious. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sell that to somebody who's buying. It might work on everybody else, but it's not going to work on me. I'm not afraid of you.”

Brian snorted derisively. “Well, that's good to know, but there's really nothing to talk about. There's nothing you can do.”

“I can listen.”

“Only if I want to talk.”

Brian was sure that Rob was about to try to find a way to make him talk, but he didn't have a chance before they were interrupted by a familiar female voice.

“Brian Kinney, is that you?”

Brian turned in the direction of the voice and saw none other than Rebecca, the therapist who had tried her dead level best to get Brian to talk about his feelings when it came to all things accident, tragedy, and paralysis. She hadn't been successful, but she did help put him in contact with Rochelle once he was ready to talk, and for that, he'd be forever grateful. But seeing her right now wasn’t exactly comforting. Not when he was afraid she’d be able to read his mood and somehow his mind along with it.

Brian cleared his throat and tried to pull himself out of the negative headspace he'd started to descend into.

“Rebecca,” he said, trying to keep his voice warm and pleasant and free of anxiety. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Really, I should say that about you,” Rebecca said as she came closer to their table. “With as glad as you were to be discharged...what was that…ten years ago? Gosh, time flies. Anyhow, I didn't think you'd be stopping by for social calls.”

She looked at Rob, and was clearly trying to make the connection between him and Brian.

“I'm not,” Brian said. “I, uh… My husband is a patient. Justin Taylor. He was in an accident. Has a traumatic brain injury.” Brian wasn't sure why he was telling her all of this. He should have just kept it light and simple and short.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,” Rebecca said earnestly, her eyes full of concern. “I haven't met him yet, but I'm sure I probably will. What are you doing back in Pittsburgh? Got tired of the big city and decided to come back home?”

“We were on our way here for the holidays when he got hurt.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. So, who's your friend?”

“This is Rob,” Brian said, thankful for the change of subject. “He's just here to help me out. Keep me in line.”

“I'm sure that's a tall order with this one,” Rebecca said to Rob. She was smiling.

Rob laughed. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think maybe I do,” Rebecca said. “He's a tough nut to crack.”

“I'm right here, in case you've both forgotten,” Brian said. He was starting to get annoyed, and he could hear the edge in his voice. He didn't particularly want to be talked about by his friend and his former therapist. He didn't want to talk about Justin. He didn't want to talk about his dreams or his feelings about the goddamned prom or anything else, for that matter. Right now, all he wanted was to forget all of this and get back to his normal life, free of fear and bad memories and post-traumatic stress.

Rebecca and Rob both seemed jarred by Brian’s sudden irritation. For a few seconds, no one said anything, until Rebecca broke the awkward silence.

“Well, I’d better be going,” she said. She smiled again, but it looked forced this time. “It was really good to see you, Brian.”

“Likewise.” Brian gave her a halfhearted wave as she walked away.

“So, who was she?” Rob asked.

“Just someone who works here.” Brian tried to keep his voice nonchalant. He didn’t want to let on how much it had unsettled him to see Rebecca again after all these years.

Rob raised a questioning eyebrow, but thankfully let the subject drop, instead choosing to regale Brian with a tale about a very eccentric-sounding woman he’d seen in the coffee shop, who had insisted that her trembling, terrified chihuahua was an emotional support dog. Brian was grateful for the distraction.

Justin was back in his room when Brian and Rob returned, and his mood was dark, to say the least. Rob left, saying he wanted to go work out in the hotel gym and call Adam, and told Brian to call him when he was ready to be picked up to go back to the hotel. Although, really, Brian knew what Rob was doing -- giving Brian and Justin some time alone.

Not that it mattered, since Justin wasn’t speaking to Brian. It didn’t matter what Brian said; Justin refused to engage. Brian tried his best to overlook Justin’s behavior -- he had to remember, he had been there. He’d done a lot of ignoring visitors after a particularly difficult day. And the first day? That one had probably been the worst. It had been a day of confronting the reality of everything he couldn't do anymore, head on. So Brian had an idea of what Justin’s day had been like, and he understood why Justin probably didn’t want to talk about it.

Brian ate dinner in the dining room with Justin, who mostly poked at his food halfheartedly, holding his silverware with his left hand. He still didn’t say anything. Brian tried everything, but Justin wouldn’t talk to him.

He did let Brian sit with him on the bed, but they watched television instead of talking and remembering like they had every night for the past week. After an hour of no sound except for the television, Brian heard Justin speak, so softly that Brian barely caught it.

“I think… I want to be… alone tonight.”

Brian wasn’t sure if Justin’s phrasing or pacing were due to his brain injury, or because he wasn’t sure how to say what he said without making Brian angry.

But Brian wasn’t angry. He got it. It stung a little, but he got it.

“Okay,” Brian said, trying to paste an understanding smile on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Justin looked down at his hands like he was ashamed of his request.

“Don’t apologize.” Brian took Justin’s left hand and squeezed it. “I understand. It’s been a long day.” He kissed Justin on the lips and hugged him before transferring himself back to his wheelchair. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Justin breathed.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” Justin paused for a moment, then added, “I really am...sorry.”

Brian grabbed Justin’s left hand again, squeezing it harder this time. “Sunshine, it’s okay. I promise. Sometimes you just need some time alone. I get it. How many times do you think I had to get rid of Michael or Debbie when they just wouldn’t leave me alone?” Brian turned one side of his mouth up into a lopsided grin, hoping that his admission might lighten the mood. It seemed to work, at least a little bit.

Justin’s lips turned up into the tiniest hint of a smile -- progress, Brian thought.

Brian kissed Justin’s hand before laying it gently back on the bed.

“Goodnight, Sunshine.”

With that, he turned and left the room. He hoped he was doing the right thing by honoring Justin’s request, and not just enabling Justin to spiral down even further into depression.

Brian was sitting by the door in the lobby, waiting for Rob to pull up outside, when Rebecca walked up, coat on and briefcase in hand, obviously headed home for the evening.

“Need a ride?” she asked.

“Nah, just waiting for my friend,” Brian said. He picked at the leg of his jeans with the fingers of his right hand, purely for the distraction.

“Ah. He seems nice.”

“He is. Sometimes I’m not sure I deserve for people to be that nice to me.”

“For a guy who has such an enormous ego, sometimes you sure don’t think much of yourself.”

“What can I say? I’m an enigma.” Brian turned his attention away from his pants and toward Rebecca instead. “I’m surprised that you remembered me. And my name, even. After all these years. Or was I really so awful that you've never forgotten me?”

“You weren't that bad. Trust me, I've seen it all,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know why, but you stuck with me.”

“I’m told I’m pretty unforgettable,” Brian said. It was a lame attempt at a joke, and Rebecca ignored it.

“I think it was because I wondered if I was getting through to you. You always had these walls that you wouldn’t let me behind. But I wondered if maybe my words were still having an impact. I had to hope they were. When you left, I was worried about you. I wondered what you’d do. How you’d deal with everything when you were confronted with not having a choice but to deal with it -- and to do it alone. I see a lot of patients in the same situation you were, and I see a lot of depression and despair, but you just felt so different, and I never could put my finger on why. Then you called me and told me that you needed my help. That wasn’t a phone call that I wanted to receive, simply because I never want anyone to be in that position -- feeling helpless -- but I was glad you made that call. That you trusted me enough to reach out to me. That told me that I had gotten through to you. And I’m glad to see that you’re doing okay. Married and all, it sounds like. You’ve come a long way.”

“Just living my life.”

“That’s all I ever want for anyone. To learn to cope and move on. To just live life. That's where recovery really is.”

At that moment, Rob’s rental car appeared under the overhang outside the sliding glass door. He had impeccable timing, Brian thought, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue this conversation with Rebecca.

“That’s my ride,” Brian said.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, then. Have a good night.” Rebecca smiled at him, then pulled her coat tighter around her body as she stepped toward the door, giving a cursory wave to Rob on her way out.

Having a good night, of course, was relative.

This one wasn’t the worst, and it wasn’t the best, but it was passable. Brian got a few good hours of sleep before he woke up drenched in sweat, panting and panicking. He met Rob for breakfast at a deli near the hotel, and tried to ignore the way Rob was eyeing him. Studying him. Trying to figure out if there was any more that Brian wasn’t saying.

“I’m fine,” Brian told him. He knew it wasn’t true -- hell, they both did -- but that didn’t really matter. Brian needed to focus on Justin. Justin needed him. He could focus on his own issues later...maybe.

Rob had a full day of conference calls ahead of him and planned to stick around the hotel, so he let Brian take the car. It felt good to drive -- to be in control. There wasn’t much Brian was in control of anymore.

When he got to Justin’s room, the door was shut, and it looked like the lights were off. He knocked lightly, and only received an agonized moan in response. Slowly and carefully, Brian turned the handle and pushed the door open. The lights, were, indeed, off. The blackout curtains were drawn and the room was very dark -- lit only by a sliver of light that snuck around the curtains on the left side and cast itself against the wall in a thin, bright line. Justin was lying in bed, his left arm thrown over his eyes and a painful grimace visible on the rest of his face.

Brian knew what was happening here. It had happened a couple of times in the hospital -- although then, there were IVs and strong painkillers. Here, not so much. Brian was all too aware of that from his own experience. Here was where you got used to how you’d be managing these things at home, where there wouldn’t be IV drips of morphine.

Brian wished there was something he could do, but he knew there was nothing, really. All he could do was be there, and be as quiet as possible. He approached the bed slowly, cursing the soft squeak of his wheelchair tires against the tile floor. Once he got close, he laid his hand -- gently, carefully -- on Justin’s right forearm, where he knew he’d be able to feel it. And that was where he stayed for the next couple of hours -- just listening to Justin breathe. About 20 minutes in, someone came in to give Justin a shot, but it seemed like it took forever to work. And even then, the only real improvement appeared to be that Justin managed to uncover and open his eyes.

That was one of the quiet days. There were a lot of those days. Days spent just sitting in the silence, when all Brian could do was physically be present.

But there were also a lot of days that were exactly the opposite, with Justin yelling and screaming and raging at anyone who dared to cross his path -- Brian, Jennifer, Debbie, the rehab center staff...anyone was fair game. One moment, he’d be shouting, and the next, he’d be crying. Brian knew that this was one of the effects of traumatic brain injury. It had happened the last time, too, though not nearly to this degree.

Justin was fighting everyone, tooth and nail. He’d yell at Jennifer and swing his fists at her, and he did the same to Debbie when she stopped by one day to drop off some lasagna for both of them. Brian didn’t think a speechless Debbie Novotny was something that could ever exist, but it did that day. Brian spent a lot of time apologizing for Justin’s behavior, which felt strange for someone whose mantra had once been “sorry’s bullshit.”

Rebecca did ultimately get to meet Justin, but even though Brian wasn’t there when they talked, he got the distinct impression from the way Justin acted afterward, that Justin was about as receptive to her help as Brian had once been. In a single one-hour meeting with her, Justin had gone from anger and resentment to complete and total despondency. Brian was desperate for Justin to find the middle ground, but he knew from his own experience that it took time. That no one could make him do it -- he had to find it on his own. Brian wondered how long it would take, and how he was going to get through watching Justin swing wildly from one harmful emotion to another.

It was incredibly difficult to watch. Brian wanted for there to be more he could do. But he knew there was nothing, and Rebecca had backed that up, giving him a reminder that he hadn’t needed, that he’d been there before. That it took time, but Justin would get there, just like he had. Brian was grateful that Jennifer and Debbie kept coming back -- loving unconditionally like mothers do -- no matter how many times Justin told them to get out and never return. Brian needed them to be there. He couldn’t watch this alone.

Days kept passing, and nothing much seemed to be changing when it came to Justin’s mood.

Brian tried every night to get Justin to relax and just talk to him. He suggested playing “remember when” again, since Justin had liked that so much and it had been so helpful in the hospital, but the reaction Brian received was all venom.

“Why?” Justin shouted. “It’s pointless! I don’t want to! My life is fucked! So why bother?”

Funny how he apparently hadn’t noticed that his speech had improved to the point where he could now say short sentences without pausing, Brian thought. But he knew that right now, Justin couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

All Brian could do was try his best to remain a supportive partner, doing what was needed, and not take anything Justin said personally. Sometimes it was incredibly difficult to keep his own emotions out of the equation, though.

Brian still couldn’t get the last time they’d played the “remember when” game out of his head.

He knew he should have been happy that Justin was remembering all the best parts of the prom -- and mostly, that Justin’s takeaway seemed to be that it was when he knew that Brian loved him. He should have been fucking ecstatic. He should have wanted to grab Justin and twirl him around and kiss him. But instead, he felt...conflicted. Blindsided by Justin bringing up something he had never expected.

As much as it had hurt all those years ago to know that Justin didn’t remember Brian’s big, romantic gesture, for some reason it hurt even more now that he remembered it. Because the prom wasn’t what Brian wanted -- no, needed -- Justin to remember. The prom was no longer a happy memory for Brian, because it had ended with blood and fear and guilt and desperation. No matter how good it was before everything went to hell in that goddamn parking garage, Brian wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to see it as something positive again.

Their wedding, on the other hand -- that was nothing but a good memory, from beginning to end. The wedding was Brian’s favorite memory. The best day of his life. And it hurt to hold that memory all alone.

He’d wanted to be excited for Justin, that he’d finally reclaimed his memory of the prom, but it was too hard. And Brian knew he had to keep his mind from spiraling down into memories of baseball bats and so much blood and ambulance rides and cold hospital hallways that were feeling much too fresh, thanks to the nightmares he’d been having.

As he and Justin held each other in Justin’s hospital bed the night he remembered, Brian couldn’t stop the quiet tears from falling. He knew he had to keep from getting too emotional, because he was afraid Justin would ask questions. If Justin suspected something was wrong, he would want to know about it, and wouldn’t give up until he found out. Brian didn’t want to tell Justin about the nightmares. He didn’t want to add to Justin’s stress and worry, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if Justin knew about the nightmares -- he'd be worried about Brian, when he needed to be concentrating on himself. But some small part of Brian wished he could talk to Justin about it. Let Justin hold him and know why Brian needed him to do that. Why Brian needed to hold him close, too -- to remind himself that Justin was still here, still alive. That the culmination of Brian revisiting the scene nearly every night in his sleep, combined with Justin finally remembering more than just bits and pieces, had been too overwhelming. But that would have made Justin feel guilty, and Brian wasn’t going to put that on him.

So he’d cried tears of hurt and fear that he hoped masqueraded as tears of joy and relief on Justin’s shoulder, all the while feeling guilty for not truly being happy that Justin had finally remembered the night he’d once said was the best night of his life.

If Justin could remember the prom, why couldn’t he remember their wedding? Was God really that cruel? Did he hate Brian that much?

But Brian knew he had to push his own feelings aside, to stay present and help Justin. Christ, he thought to himself. Stay present. Maybe Rob was rubbing off on him.

Rob went back to New York in mid-January. He was reluctant, but didn’t have a choice because he had meetings that he needed to physically be at the office for. Brian was grateful for Rob’s help, and he’d miss his presence, but he knew that Rob needed to get back to his life just as badly as Brian wanted to get back to his own.

Brian started going into the office himself for a few hours every day, while Justin was busy with his various therapies. It felt good to do something normal, even though he no longer worked directly out of the Pittsburgh office and hadn’t for ten years. It was like putting on an old shoe, though -- broken in and comfortable. Like he’d never left.

The third week in January, Brian had an important meeting with Leo Brown that he’d been originally scheduled to fly back into town for. How convenient that he’d never left, Brian thought to himself as he sat in his former-steam-room-turned-office, looking over the files and the boards. Brian was having a hard time focusing on the task at-hand.

It had been a rough few days for Justin, and for Brian by proxy. Justin really was making improvements with his hand -- he could move his fingers now, and he had some sensation back, although his grip strength and fine motor skills were still pretty much nonexistent. But it didn’t seem like Justin could see any of the progress he was making, because what he wanted was to be right back to normal at the drop of a hat. That wasn’t going to happen. Brian knew that, and he was fairly sure that Justin knew that, but Justin’s words and actions said something else entirely where his expectations were concerned. What Justin wanted was to be able to hold a pencil or a paintbrush and move it -- to create with it. And that wasn’t happening, so to Justin, all of his progress was for naught.

Brian had tried to encourage him to use the computer instead, but Justin refused. Nothing Brian said or did could get Justin interested in it. Brian felt so helpless, and he hated it.

So that was where Brian’s mind was as he attempted to prepare for his meeting with Leo Brown and company.

Cynthia came in a little before 10 a.m., while Brian was staring off into space, lost in his own thoughts.

“You ready, boss?”

Brian shook his head and tried to bring himself back to reality.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

The meeting would have been a complete and total disaster if it hadn’t been for Cynthia. Brian was tired and distracted, and kept flubbing his words and losing his train of thought. He guessed this was what happened after a month of sleep deprivation and stress. Eventually you lose your mental faculties, even if you’re the great god Kinney. When Cynthia was done saving his ass and saving the account -- he knew he’d made her a partner a few years back for a reason -- Brian quickly excused himself and went back to his office.

He cursed the fact that the bottle of whiskey he’d always kept on the cart by his desk was no longer there, because right then he could use a drink. Although maybe it was for the best if he couldn’t drown his frustrations in alcohol this time -- the last thing he needed was to pass out drunk and piss himself in full view of his entire staff, thanks to that damn glass door that gave him absolutely no privacy.

So he poured himself a glass of water, downed it, then went over to the couch, hoisted his body onto it, and laid back. He’d had a particularly bad night of disturbing dreams, which he wasn’t looking forward to talking to Rochelle about later, and this disaster of a meeting had only added to the giant pile of suck that his life was quickly becoming. And it wasn’t a positive, life-affirming sort of suck. He closed his eyes and tried to relax -- stay present, Rob’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t live in the past or worry about the future. The trouble was, the present wasn’t much better.

He heard the din of conversation outside his office get louder, then quieter again as someone opened and closed the door. He cracked an eye open just as he heard Cynthia say, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Brian said as he pushed himself upright. “It’s okay. Stay. What’s up?”

“Just checking on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Cynthia crossed the room and sat down next to him on the sofa. “As fine as you were when you came in here and tried to power through after radiation treatments for cancer.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks a lot. I can always count on you to boost my ego.”

“You know what I mean. I know you’ve got a lot going on right now.”

Brian snorted. “Yeah. To say the least.”

“I thought you were letting us help you. Ted and I. We could have handled that meeting. All you needed to tell me was that you couldn’t come in. Or didn’t want to, whatever. It would have been fine.”

“I wanted to be here. No reason I shouldn’t be.”

“Brian, your husband is in rehab for a brain injury. He’s struggling right now, and I know you are too. You don’t fool me. You never have, so don’t insult me by trying to pretend that you do.”

“What do you want me to do, cry on your shoulder?” Brian said sarcastically.

“If that’s what you want to do, sure. Just let me take my jacket off first; I just got it dry cleaned.” Cynthia smiled at him.

“Well, your jacket is safe. I won’t be doing any crying. The only thing I want is to be back home in my own bed, with Justin.” He wanted to at least try to get back to normal life, even if “normal” now was nothing like “normal” before.

“Brian, we’re not just coworkers, partners in this agency. We’re friends too. If you need something, just know you can come to me, okay?”

Brian nodded, and Cynthia pulled him into a hug. He kind of did want to cry on her shoulder, but he wasn’t going to. He didn’t have much longer to make it through before they’d be going home to New York. He hoped that then, things might get easier for both him and Justin.

The next week, the speculation that Justin might be home by February turned into a concrete plan. Justin would continue with outpatient rehab in New York, but they’d be home. Brian was relieved, but Justin didn’t seem to be very happy to be going home, even in spite of how much he’d begged for that just a few weeks before. Brian could easily see that Justin was as frustrated and depressed as he had been for his entire stay in rehab. Justin had made a lot of improvements over the past few weeks, but not as much as he’d wanted, so as far as Justin was concerned, he might as well have done nothing at all. Brian felt like he’d been watching Justin spiral downward, and it was frightening. He wondered if he was ever going to truly get his husband back.

Not that it mattered -- he wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d continue loving and supporting Justin no matter how many times Justin yelled at him or told him to fuck off.

Brian just wished there was something he could do to make Justin feel more like himself again.

The night before Justin was scheduled to be discharged, he and Brian were sitting on the bed together, quietly watching television, when Justin broke their comfortable silence with a question.

"Were you scared?"

It took Brian a moment to get his bearings and respond. He had no idea what Justin was talking about.

"When?" Brian asked as he used the remote to turn off the television. He knew the distraction of the background noise would start to frustrate Justin soon, so it was best to head that off now. Justin hadn’t been doing much talking over the last few weeks -- at least, not about anything substantial -- even though his speech had improved by leaps and bounds. So Brian was hoping that perhaps Justin was opening up.

"When you got hurt."

"Yeah, I was scared. I was...devastated actually. I still remember the doctor telling me I had a spinal cord injury. That I was a T-12 complete paraplegic. I had a label. A label I didn't want. I didn't even really know what it meant. I just knew that I couldn't feel or move my legs, and I'd had surgery on my back, and it hurt like a motherfucker. I remember him telling me I'd be independent. That I could still do ‘great things.’ But that was laughable, back then. I didn't feel like I could do anything, really. I felt so...hopeless."

"You had surgery?"

"Yeah. I have six vertebrae fused together. Makes for a really scary-looking x-ray. A big, long scar, too. You told me once that you liked it."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You said it meant I was a survivor. That I'd made it through something awful."

Justin was quiet. Brian heard him sigh.

“But yeah, I was scared. These things are scary. But all you can do is just...survive. You’ll survive this, Sunshine. Just like you did before. Just like I did back then. All you can do is survive, and find a way to move on. You helped me do that. I’ll help you too.”

“I guess I’m just...scared of reality. If this is the way I’ll be for good.”

“I understand. It’s hard to wrap your head around this kind of thing. But even if nothing changes from here, I’m not going anywhere. And I know you’re still going to be just as confident and talented and successful as you always have been. Even if it doesn’t seem like that now.”

“I wish I believed you. No one will take me seriously...as an artist. Not now.”

“I seem to remember you telling me once to just say, fuck ‘em. Keep going. Do what I wanted. Prove people wrong when they judged me.”

“I don’t remember that. But I’m sure it was different.”

“I don’t think it was different at all. It’s your turn to prove them wrong. And I’ll be here to help you do it, every step of the way.”

They were going home. Brian wasn’t sure Justin was ready, but his care team seemed to think he was, and it wasn’t Brian’s place to question their expertise. Maybe they figured being back home would help him thrive. Brian sure hoped so.

But no matter what it took, Brian was committed to making sure Justin didn’t just give up. That he kept on trying.

Justin hadn’t given up on Brian, all those years ago. And Brian wasn’t giving up on Justin now.

They were both survivors.


End file.
